Return of the Sorceress (22 page)

Davyn thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get started. We need to hurry before—”

Davyn was cut off by the sound of wood sliding across metal. He looked up and saw that a quartet of burly men were lowering a ramp into the Pit.

The crowd roared its approval.

From the onlookers’ reaction, Davyn guessed the ramp wasn’t intended as way out, but rather to allow someone—or some
thing
—else to get in.

Evidently, Ayanti shared his thought, for she called out to the men lowering the ramp. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s me … Ayanti! There’s been some sort of horrible mistake! We shouldn’t be in here!”

Laughter broke out among the spectators.

“Sorry, Ayanti,” Elidor said, “but I don’t think they care who you are.”

“Look out!” Catriona shouted.

The friends jumped back as the end of the ramp teetered, then came crashing down to the floor of the Pit.

A large shape came into view at the top of the ramp and began to descend into the Pit with awkward, lumbering steps.

Davyn stared at the beast, unable to believe what he was seeing. The monster was a hideous conglomeration, a nightmarish patchwork of heads, limbs, scales, fur, and exposd bone. The main head was that of a white-furred ice bear, and flanking it were the heads of two dire wolves. All three heads growled as the horrible beast came down the ramp, baring saliva-coated fangs and glaring at the companions with hungry eyes. Behind the creature, a black-scaled tail whipped the air, and from its back sprouted a pair of tattered, decayed dragon wings, so decomposed that they were clearly incapable of launching the beast into flight. The bulk of the thing’s body was a mixture of white and gray fur, black
lizard-scales, and dead flesh. Worst of all were the monster’s legs: they were nothing but ivory bone—the front pair avian, the rear feline.

Through the horror that gripped his mind, Davyn felt a tickle of memory. The bear and the wolves … the lizard-board and the bone-griffin … the dracolich … Somehow, by the darkest of magics, these creatures had been merged into a single terrifying entity.

The hybrid monster reached the bottom of the ramp and stepped into the Pit, all six of its eyes focused on the pathetic little beings that were destined to be its prey.

As bad as the sight of the monster was, the stench of the thing was far worse. It gave of a thick, greasy stink like congealed sewage, and Davyn felt hot bile splash against the back of his throat. It took all his self-control to keep from vomiting.

“Now that,” Sindri said in delighted appreciation, “is truly an impressive stink!”

Elidor, whose sense were keener than a human’s, groaned and covered his nose and mouth with a hand.

The hybrid lurched toward them on its skeletal legs. The five companions slowly retreated to the opposite side of the Pit as it came. When Davyn’s back bumped against a stone wall, he realized there was nowhere left to retreat.

Davyn drew his hunting knife. “Then we’ll just have to attack first, won’t we?”

The patchwork beast opened its trio of mouths and released a combination of ursine and lupine roars, and then it started toward them.

“Now!” Davyn shouted, and he rushed toward the beast, hunting knife held high, prepared to strike …

… and then he was no longer running, no longer holding the knife in his hand. He stood in front of a painting that depicted
Catriona, Elidor, Sindri, and Ayanti running forward to meet the charge of a hideous hybrid monster.

He blinked in confusion. “What’s going on here?”

He then heard a soft chuckle, amused, but not without a certain amount of sympathy.

“Are you all right?”

Davyn turned to look at the gaunt-faced man dressed in black robes and was startled to realize that it was Maddoc, his adoptive father.

His first impulse was to wrap his hands around the wizard’s throat and choke the life out of him, but he resisted. “Not that I think you really care, but I’m fine,” he lied. “You don’t look so well.”

“Shaera was killed not long ago. Her death took its toll on me.”

Davyn was surprised at how weak and breathy Maddoc’s voice had become. Davyn was no wizard, but he understood that the link between a mage and his familiar was created through a merging of their lifeforces. When one died, the other nearly did so as well. But seeing the effect of Shaera’s death upon Maddoc was a shock.

Davyn turned away from Maddoc and glanced around the room. He saw that his companions stood before their own paintings, one to a picture, though since Sindri still sat on Ayanti’s back, the two of them shared a painting. They all stood motionless, scarcely breathing as they stared at their paintings, all of which depicted the same scene as Davyn’s.

“Don’t try to yell at them or shake them,” Maddoc said. “Simply closing the door activates the enchantment, but it takes somewhat more skill to break the spell once it begins, skill that I obviously possess.” He gestured to Davyn’s painting, which was now blank. “Do you know why I broke the Gallery’s spell for you?”

“Because you needed someone to gloat to?” he said bitterly.

Maddoc smiled. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “One of the problems with being a dark wizard is that there usually isn’t anyone to share your triumphs with, certainly no one that’s your equal. But I had another more important reason. You are my son and there is unfinished business between us. I would like to speak with you. So I’m giving you a choice. You may leave the Gallery with me, or if you’d rather, I’ll return you to your illusion.” Maddoc gestured to Davyn’s painting.

Davyn was tempted to tell Maddoc to go to blazes, but if he were once again in the grip of the Gallery’s enchantment, he would be helpless. If he went with Maddoc, however, there was a chance that he might be able to do something to help his friends and Nearra.

“Very well,” Davyn said, doing his best to keep the emotions he felt out of his voice. “Let’s talk.”

Maddoc acknowledged his adopted son’s choice with a nod before turning and walking into the hallway. As Davyn followed, he glanced on last time at his friends. Though their faces were expressionless, he knew that within their minds they were preparing to battle the patchwork nightmare. He silently wished them luck.

    M
addoc sat in his favorite chair before a roaring fire, and Davyn sat in front of him waiting for the wizard to speak.

Maddoc leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers over his stomach, and closed his eyes. A moment passed, then two, and Davyn began to think the wizard had dozed off. The goblins had taken his weapons, but all he had to do was grab hold of Maddoc’s neck and squeeze as hard as he could. Davyn was young and strong, and now Maddoc was frail and weak. There was an excellent chance that Davyn could kill the wizard before he could cast a spell to protect himself.

Davyn started to get off his stool, but then stopped. As practical—and satisfying—as killing Maddoc would be, Davyn couldn’t bring himself to do it. The person he had been a year ago might’ve been capable of such an act, but he’d changed a great deal since then, and not in small part due to Nearra. Even though he would be killing Maddoc to protect her, as well as avenge his true father, Davyn could imagine the sorrow and disappointment in her eyes when she learned he had killed for her. Nearra had not only helped him become a better person and she made him want to stay that way.

Maddoc opened his eyes then and a sly smile played about his lips. The wizard had been testing him, of course. With Maddoc, everything was a test of one sort or another.

“You might not believe this,” Maddoc said, “but in a way I’m proud of you. You’re on your way to becoming quite a man.”

“No thanks to you,” Davyn said. “Is that why you released me from the Gallery’s spell? To tell me that?”

“No. The thought merely occurred to me, and I decided to share it with you, that’s all. No matter what has taken place between us in the past or may yet take place in the future, you are still my son, and I am still your father.”

“You’re not my father!” Davyn shouted. “You lied to me, hurt my friends, and you forced me to kill the man who was my true father!”

Maddoc was silent for a time before he responded in a soft voice. “Do you know why I chose to wear the black robes?”

Davyn was surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation. Maddoc had never spoken of such things to him before.

“No. I didn’t think choice was involved.”

Maddoc kept his gaze fixed on the flames as he continued to speak. “That’s true enough as far as it goes. Just as all men and women have their talents and inclinations, so too do wizards. But there’s more to it than that. When one begins training at the Tower of Wayreth, one must choose the robes that he or she shall wear, thereby publicly proclaiming a devotion to one order of magic: white for Good, red for Neutral, and black for Evil. At least, that’s the way uneducated peasants would describe the orders.”

“But not you.” Davyn couldn’t keep the derision out of his voice.

Maddoc ignored it and went on. “White stands for restraint. White Robes are extremely careful what spells they cast, and they strive to use magic only when they deem it to be truly necessary.
Red Robes believe in balance. They are not as cautious as White Robes, but neither do they completely embrace all aspects of magic, as do Black Robes. They also keep an eye on the White and Black Robes to make sure the former do not impeded magical progress overmuch and that the Black Robes’ devotion to total magical freedom doesn’t lead to chaos.”

“I don’t see how—”

“I chose to wear the black robes because I don’t believe the gods would’ve given people the ability to wield magic if they didn’t want us to learn all we can about it and use it to the fullest. Magic has no limits, so neither should those who wield it. Some Black Robes seek to increase their power, but my own passion is the acquisition of forgotten magical knowledge. So much information was lost after the Cataclysm, and it’s possible that we may never get it all back. But when I learned about Asvoria and discovered the location of her keep, I knew that I would be able to restore at least a small portion of that ancient knowledge. And when I came to believe that I could resurrect Asvoria herself …” Maddoc lifted his gaze from the fire and looked at the tapestry that had once held the sorceress’ spirit. “I knew then that I could learn all that she knew, and I could take her knowledge to the Tower of Wayreth so that all wizards, regardless of what color robes they wore, could have access to it.”

Maddoc then looked at Davyn. “That is my dream, my son. Does it seem like the dream of an evil man to you?”

“No, it’s not an evil dream. But evil can result from the pursuit of such a dream.”

Maddoc gave Davyn a smile that said
What a charmingly naïve statement.
“The acquisition of knowledge is an ultimate good. Imagine the secrets that must be hidden in Asvoria’s mind! Imagine what could be accomplished with such knowledge, such power!”

Davyn thought of the War of the Lance, when Takhisis had attempted to take over the world. When the next battle between the forces of Light and Darkness occurred, would it be Maddoc who commanded the dark army?

“But what of the cost?” Davyn said. “For Asvoria’s personality to fully live, Nearra’s must die.”

“I wouldn’t say
die.
More like go dormant. But whatever happens to the girl, isn’t the loss of one life worth the knowledge that we will gain? If Nearra could fully understand what was at stake, do you think she would hesitate to sacrifice herself for the greater good? I know you have feelings for her—”

“Not really,” Davyn lied. “I mean, she’s all right, but nothing special.”

“Then why did you come here?” Maddoc asked. “If you no longer care for the girl, why try to rescue her?”

Davyn turned to look at Maddoc. “Because I did care for her once. And to be honest, I wanted to get back at you. You told me you were my father, but in truth, the Beast was my real father, and you were responsible for his transformation.”

Maddoc paused before answering, and Davyn knew he was carefully considering his reply.

“Yes, I lied to you. But only to protect you. You were so young, and I feared you wouldn’t understand. Your birth parents were my most loyal and trusted servants. I had developed a spell that would allow a person to take on the form of a powerful creature. Such an ability would be quite an advantage to a warrior. Imagine being able to turn into the Beast at will, being able to control its strength and savagery. I approached your father and told him about the spell I’d created. Since Senwyr was a ranger, I thought his affinity for animals would make him the most suitable candidate for the great gift I had to offer if he wanted it. And he did.”

Davyn didn’t bother to conceal the shock he felt. Could it be true? Could his father actually have
volunteered
to become the Beast?

“Your mother was against Senwyr participating in my experiment and tried to persuade us not to attempt the spell. But I was younger, and like many wizards, full of overconfidence. Your father and I went ahead with the spell, and it was a success—but only a partial one. Your father transformed into the creature that I eventually came call the Beast, but he could not control his new animalistic mind. He tried to attack me, and your mother—well, she tried to stop him and paid for it with her life. But her sacrifice bought me enough time to overcome my surprise and cast a spell to immobilize the Beast.